


Show Me Where My Armor Ends

by corgasbord



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Despair, Domestic, Fluff, Introspection, M/M, Polyamory, a little angst if you squint, nsfw undertones but nothing too serious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 18:45:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12305373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corgasbord/pseuds/corgasbord
Summary: Hands are meant for hurting.Kokichi knows this all too well. He decides to let Kaito and Shuuichi in anyway.





	Show Me Where My Armor Ends

**Author's Note:**

> i was talking with idaate about ouma and how he probably has issues with intimacy, particularly of the emotional kind, and... well, this happened. basically, this is an exploration of ouma's thought process when it comes to emotional vulnerability, particularly in the context of sexual relationships. i wasn't going to post it but i was enabled, so i hope you all enjoy it!

Hands are meant for hurting.

It’s easier that way, Kokichi thinks. Hurting creates palpable distance, and with distance comes safety. At least with the people he hurts and the people who hurt him he knows where he stands. He knows what to expect.

Shuuichi and Kaito don’t hurt him in the way he thinks they should. Their hands caress him and embrace him and stroke him everywhere they can reach until he has to close his eyes to focus on not shaking apart. His head still swims in the darkness, but he doesn’t need to be able to see to tell who’s who.

Kaito’s hands are strong and warm like the rest of him, layered thinly with callouses. They’re clumsy, but they’re earnest. They have hurt Kokichi before, in a past so distant it’s not even worth mentioning. Now they cup Kokichi’s face to bring him into a kiss, and Kokichi thinks it would be less strange if they wrapped around his neck instead and squeezed until darkness enveloped him completely.

Shuuichi’s hands are soft and shaky in contrast. They map out the contours of Kokichi’s body, slow and careful, as if to memorize it. Shuuichi wants to know Kokichi inside and out, and his hands betray that desire. Shuuichi’s hands are for investigating, for learning. Kokichi doesn’t think they’ve ever hurt a soul.

That makes four hands to dig beneath his seams and split them, thread by thread until he’s completely unwound. Kokichi has his own two hands to reciprocate their gestures with, and he does, if only to convince everyone present - himself included - that he’s still intact.

Kokichi takes the longest of the three of them to relax and let himself crumple, folding into the mattress like paper between two bodies larger than his own. For a few seconds he is electric, from his toes to the split ends of his thoroughly mussed hair. In the silence of the room his body thrums, tingling and alive.

Then the tremors fade from his hands and the euphoria drains from his fingertips. His breathing slows. His head clears. His heart beats too loud in his ears. His skin begins to crawl, itching between sheets and limbs that aren’t his.

With stiff movements, he pushes himself up. He doesn’t need to look behind him to feel two pairs of glazed eyes burning holes into his back as he clambers out of the bed on wobbly legs and stumbles over to the bathroom. He doesn’t need to meet their imploring stares and answer their unspoken questions. There’s nothing to explain, as far as he’s concerned; it’s perfectly normal for someone to want to get clean when they feel dirty, isn’t it?

When he cranks on the faucet in the shower, he doesn’t wait for the water to go from icy to scalding before stepping in. Maybe the wave of cold will extinguish the residual fire in his blood. Maybe it’ll make him too numb to feel as strange as he does right now.

The temperature steadily rises around him. His fingertips ghost over his own prone flesh as its color changes from white to pink and steam curls up into the air above him. He wonders if the heat will be enough to burn away the fingerprints his partners left behind. Probably not. Aimlessly, he grabs the soap and begins scrubbing until pink becomes red.

Hands are meant for using. They’re meant for taking more than giving, as others have shown him time and time again. They’re not to be trusted, not his nor anyone else’s.

He let Kaito and Shuuichi in anyway. He had expected to finish with bruises and bites but there are none to be seen, save for five spots on his left hip from where Kaito held him too fervently. Kaito and Shuuichi were careful with him in spite of the knowledge that he is far from delicate. Their hands made him feel like a person. Their hands made him feel good, better than he deserved. They loved him with their hands and their lips and their breathy words and they made him ache with the need to love them back. Even now the hollow of his chest aches in a way that he’s never felt before. The feeling would almost be novel in its unfamiliarity if it didn’t leave him at a complete loss.

Intimacy and vulnerability and even love aren't suited to people like him. Having experienced all of the above doesn't make them any less jarring, and to feel them rattle through every bone in his body at once is a new experience entirely.

He liked it. Loved it, even.

Perhaps that’s part of the problem. He regarded the topic of sex with casual indifference and his apathy left him unequipped to handle the aftermath. It wasn’t something he’d ever done because he expected to enjoy it, and now he’s left with fading ripples of bliss that someone like him isn’t supposed to feel. Still, he can't simply disappear from the lives of two people he's committed himself to over something as silly as fear, nor would he even begin to consider it. They're not like the strangers whose hands he's felt. They're home. They're all he has.

Lavender suds run down his legs and make a trail of bubbles to the drain, and he watches them disappear without really watching them because for a few minutes he’s not quite real.

The water is no longer hot when he finally shuts it off. He's scrubbed himself so clean that he can't feel their hands on him anymore, and it’s a small relief but a relief nonetheless. He rubs his still-rosy skin dry and wraps himself in a towel before exiting in a puff of steam.

His partners lift their heads in unison upon his re-entry, and he feels himself begin to burn again. He only has to spare the two of them a glance to see the way they’re still tangled up in each other, and he doesn’t let his eyes linger. Their gazes sear marks into him like their fingers did, like the scalding shower water did. He turns his back to them and ambles over to the dresser to dig out something to wear as pajamas.

“Um… Kokichi?” Shuuichi’s voice breaks the silence, prompting Kokichi to still. “Are you all right?”

“Peachy,” Kokichi chirps, not looking at him. “You know, you two weren’t half bad. I was almost worried you were gonna bore me.”

There’s a pause. Then, Shuuichi continues, “Kokichi… You know that if something’s wrong, you can tell us, right?”

The towel puddles at Kokichi’s feet as he slips one of Kaito’s too-big shirts on over his head, letting the fabric shroud him and cover the invisible prints on his thighs. “What makes you think anything’s wrong?”

“Well, I mean…” Shuuichi trails off as though at a loss.

“You scampered off the second you caught your breath,” Kaito cuts in for Shuuichi. “I mean, it’s cool if you need some alone time, but…”

“We were a little worried,” Shuuichi says. “So we just want you to know that you can tell us if you need space or privacy or something.”

Kokichi blinks at them owlishly, startled by their sincerity. Then he barks out a laugh. “You two are really funny, you know that?” He says, ignoring the tight feeling taking root in his chest. “I can’t imagine what you’re so concerned about. I just wanted to get clean- and you both should, too. I bet you’re suuuper gross after all the nasty stuff we just did!”

Shuuichi and Kaito exchange a glance, then look down at themselves. “I mean… I suppose you’re not entirely wrong,” Shuuichi says. He sits up, and Kokichi reflexively fakes a smile as he prances over to plop himself down on the edge of the bed.

“I can wait for you, but I don’t want you touching me until you’re both clean,” Kokichi says. “I didn’t spend all that time in the shower for nothing.”

“Right, right,” Shuuichi chuckles. If he notices how raw Kokichi’s rubbed himself, he doesn’t comment on it. “I hope you didn’t use up all the hot water, though.”

“You’ll just have to find out for yourself,” Kokichi says, and Kaito groans audibly from the other side of the bed.

The mattress lifts next to Kokichi as Shuuichi slips from beneath the covers. Then there's a feather-light touch of lips to his cheek, a whispered “Love you.” Kokichi freezes, smile still suspended in place. It’s not the first time he’s ever heard those words and it probably won’t be the last, but for some reason they sink between his lungs this time, causing his breath to catch on them. He wants to say it back. He doesn’t.

The spell is broken by the sound of the bathroom door clicking shut. He hears Kaito shift behind him and ask, “You sure you don’t wanna lay back down?”

“Why would I have a problem with getting comfortable again?” Kokichi asks, tossing an innocent look over his shoulder. Then he hitches himself further up and flops backwards, lying opposite Kaito. “I just said I don’t want you getting your nasty sweaty mitts all over me.” It’s almost too easy to pretend that it’s due to repulsion rather than sensitivity. Something like emotional impotence after he’d just let Kaito fuck him would be ridiculous, after all.

Kaito scoffs. “Whatever.”

Kokichi goes quiet. Of course Kaito would accept that, and Shuuichi would, too. Of course they would respect him enough to only take as much as he offered. He still can’t possibly fathom why, but it’s something that he’s long since come to terms with.

“If you’re that disappointed, though, I’ll let you hold my hand,” Kokichi continues. He turns his head to flash Kaito a sly grin and extends an arm in his direction, fingers uncurled.

Kaito stares at it for a second. Then he takes it with a snort, watching Kokichi carefully through lidded eyes. “You’re so fucking weird.”

Kokichi sticks his tongue out. His gaze drifts up to the ceiling and he remarks, “God, your hand is all sticky. It’s gross.”

“I don’t see you pulling away, though.”

“Well, I said I’d let you hold it, and I’m a man of my word,” Kokichi says. Kaito makes a noise that almost sounds like a laugh at that and wraps his slippery fingers tighter around Kokichi’s. The weight in Kokichi’s chest is as heavy as ever, but he can breathe again. He can adapt to this just like he adapts to everything else.

And when Shuuichi returns, Kokichi reaches over the edge of the bed with his palm and his lips both upturned. Shuuichi shakes his head fondly, a smile forming on his own face as he grasps Kokichi’s hand in his. The sensation is somehow both familiar and foreign at the same time, and he decides that in spite of his internal conflict, he doesn’t hate it.

Hands are meant for holding, after all, and with both of his occupied he wonders if perhaps this is what it feels like to be complete.


End file.
